


The Long Ride Home

by smleeish



Series: Jason Todd vs The Batfamily (and Activities of Daily Living) [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Batfamily Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Freeform, Gen, Gory details feat. "Dumb Ways To Die", Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Mother-Son Relationship, Public Transportation, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 16:24:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7764799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smleeish/pseuds/smleeish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exhausted, injured, and stranded after an explosive finale, Jason's last resort to get home before sunrise is to head for a bus stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Ride Home

**Author's Note:**

> References to [_Dumb Ways To Die_](https://youtu.be/IJNR2EpS0jw), the internet phenomenon a few years back that turned train safety into a catchy tune about mutilating cute, smiley blob-things. Sorry, I had it stuck in my head while writing up the draft for this story =T
> 
> Same warning as always for Jason's unfiltered potty mouth, as well for descriptions of blood, drugs and violence.

 

 

Jason shook off the fog over his head to find himself staring slack-jawed at the spotlit advertisement board on the other side of the road for what felt like the hundredth time in the last five minutes. He quickly wiped the stupid look off of his face. Which was getting fucking ridiculous because he was feeling rather murderous at the moment for the boardroom guy who came up with the idea that subjecting bean-shaped cartoon characters to various stages of fluffy pink mutilation in an advertisement would actually be _educational?_ Jason scowled at the row of dopey smiles as they sang to him in bold letters: 

_Dumb ways to die—_ _Set fire to your hair_  
_Poke a stick at a grizzly bear_  
_Eat medicine that's out of date_  
_Use your private parts as piranha bait._  
_Be safe around trains._

Because being safe around transit was obviously a serious concern in a city where the chances of being gunned down in a turf war, eaten by a crocodile-man or suffocated in laughing gas were a regular forecast on the news channel. _Only fucking Gotham._  

Jason wasn't particularly inclined towards vandalism in the multitude of things he was convicted of (because everything else over the years that he exploded, set on fire, launched out of a window, or otherwise used as an extension of his arm to whack criminals with, was collateral for the greater good, obviously), but he had a very strong urge in that moment to storm across the empty lot, leap up the side of the wooden frame and punch a hole through every bean-shaped, jolly face staring eerily back at him. If only to stop himself from staring dumbly back like the zombie he was supposed to be.

If he really wanted to, he had time to seriously consider doing it. The late-night shuttle bus wouldn't be there for another five minutes or so.

Speaking of which, one might ask why Jason was standing at a bus stop outside of Gotham, drugged up on painkillers at three o' clock in the morning? Now that was the million-dollar question, the answer to which Jason had no intention of contemplating over until he had a bottle scotch in his system and a pack of cigarettes on hand.

The short version of the story involved a series of exploding drug labs over the last month with Jason walking away _relatively_ unscathed in the epic, fiery finale just on the outskirts of Gotham county. Relative being the operational term, since he was still functional, technically speaking (the shrapnel buried in his body at some hopefully non-vital locations, the broken arm and the broken ankle would say otherwise). After escaping the blast, he had tossed his unconscious rescue (Red Robin) into the outstretched arms of the first cavalry to arrive on the scene (Nightwing), then grabbed one of the EMT's as they jumped off the arriving ambulances and pushed them in the direction of the two vigilantes with a grunt of,  _"Heroin overdose,"_  all before he slunk down an inconspicuous side street and started the long trek back towards the city. 

Thank god for the geniuses who created pain killers and adrenaline shots.

Two hours later found him quickly changing his opinion when he was crashing harder than a jetliner barreling into the highway on a Friday night. By the time he'd made some distance through the suburbs, he was too tired to give a damn about dignity. Even if he hadn't lost his grappling gun or his motorcycle in the fire, he wouldn't have been able to use either of them anyways in his pathetic condition. Which explains why he ended up grudgingly searching out the fastest transit route back to his closest safe house, swallowed his pride to wait impatiently at a bus stop at an ungodly hour of the morning, only to end up staring at a poster of gorified jelly beans and _holy fuck,_ _he was staring at it_ again _like an idiot._

Fortunately for him, the streets were virtually empty at this time of the night, so no one was actually around to witness his brain-dead moment besides several wizened peddlers snoring away in their sleeping bags under the overpass behind him. It was so blaringly quiet that he heard the revving of the engine long before the actual headlights of an armored motorbike came into view in the distance and came skidding to a halt right at the curb. 

"What's shakin', Hood?" asked the obnoxiously purple Batgirl who stepped out of the bullet-shaped vehicle. 

_Hell no_ , Jason's inner voice immediately clammed up at the blinding sight of the cheerful blond. _Not gonna bother._

"Hellooo _oooo?_  Anybody home in that red tin can?" The girl dusted herself off as she approached him, knuckles of one hand raised in the motion of rapping on his helmet like a horribly clichéd  _knock-knock_ joke. 

Jason mentally _dared_ her to—

_Knock-knock._

Oh, fuck it. 

"You've got three fucking seconds to get out of my face, Blondie, or else—"

The rest of his words cut off abruptly as he recoiled backwards with a surprised grunt of pain. Oh, this girl had the _balls_ to poke him in the obviously-still-bleeding wound in his side. This shit was going _down_. 

Jason vehemently ripped his helmet off, all the better to gnash his teeth at her, and snarled, "You _bitch_ —"

"Pretty sure you lost a kidney there, Red Hood—"

"—What the _fuck_ do you _want?_ "

There was a charged pause while Jason mentally blocked out the pain radiating up every extension of his body; Stephanie ducked his glare, circled around his bedraggled form with an inspecting eye and took a moment to put together a sincere answer.

"You've got a little blood on your, uh—" she gestured at him, head to toes. 

Jason let out a gut-wrenching groan of exasperation and chucked his dented helmet like a fast ball at the poster board across the street, managing to bust a hole through one particularly hammy-looking jelly bean. 

"Nice one," Steph whistled, impressed at the feat. 

"I'm chucking _you_ next if you don't _leave me alone_. I don't need a fucking lecture."

"On what?"

"Oh, I don't know," he sneered, "How my obsession with the drug trade is out of control? How my anger issues are turning me into a homicidal monster? How I royally _fucked up_  tonight and should go running back to Daddy-Bats to fix my Lazarus rabies and all my horrible _life choices?_ Take your pick." 

Batgirl froze abruptly. If there was one thing to her advantage from growing up on the streets, it was the sense that she was certainly pushing buttons and risked a solid punch to the face. Jason wouldn't disagree on that point. "Speaking of life choices," she worded slowly, carefully, "How's that quit-smoking plan coming along?"

Jason gave her the finger and the change in mood was certainly welcome judging by the smirk on her face. 

"But seriously, Hood." Her casual posture straightened and Jason got the sense that the annoying girl was _finally_ getting to the point she was here for in the first place. Her eyes softened ever so slightly and if Jason squinted, he could have sworn she looked almost sympathetic. "I can give you a lift back if you need it," she said. "No strings attached. I'll drop you off wherever you want and you can call us square."

Jason blinked. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said bluntly. Truthfully, he had been expecting to get an ear-full of the mess he'd made of the case that night and all the previous nights, blowing up entire districts of old condos-turned-drug-factories across New Jersey.  

Steph hesitated, before answering softly, "... Tim's gonna be all right."

Well _holy shitballs_ , is _that_ what this was all about? Because helping the Bats was definitely _not_  on Jason's agenda when he decided to blow up those drug labs. Not that he wouldn't have saved the Repla— _Tim_ — anyways after discovering his fellow vigilante's hostage situation in the middle of Jason's own vendetta. Jason flinched when he realized there was a heartfelt, unspoken _'thank you'_ in those words and he remembered vaguely that Stephanie and Tim had been in a pretty serious relationship at one point in their lives.

Okay, he can respect that.

Really, Jason was more worried about the fact that she had known where to find him, and if that blinking light in her ear meant an unwanted eavesdropper was in their midst (which was always the case), he would most likely be crossing paths with another Bat liaison casually passing through the neighborhood in the near future. He was definitely not sticking around long enough to bet on that hunch. Apparently the third Batgirl—a former Robin, a dead partner, a kid living in their father's shadow, a story that was all too familiar for comfort—wasn't going to let him off so easily.

"Tim was right about you," she continued, watching him fidget at the thought that they had something in common. "But he's too forgiving to ever ask and everyone just seems fine with walking eggshells around you for the rest of their lives." Hands on her hips, she pushed her nose right into his space, all the better to suspiciously probe his expressionless mask and ask, "Those dealers had nothing to do with your usual targets. They were dangerous, sure, but way out of your league. Only dealt to rich clients on the East coast and they sure as hell didn't deal to kids. So who are you _really_ angry at?"

The metal pieces in his side felt suddenly larger than a cannon ball. _None of your business,_ his thoughts spat at her. _Keep your fucking mouth shut,_ he spat at himself. Luckily, he was saved from resorting to escape tactics—he deflects with an insult, she snarks back, then he shoots her tires out to make a point about being a crazy asshole with a gun—when the chugging hydraulics of a single-decker bus driving up the road broke the tension. Steph clucked her teeth in resignation and Jason silently thanked the bus driver for diligently bringing his getaway car on schedule. 

"Well, would you look at the time," he gloated sweetly and glanced pointedly at his invisible watch. "Better move your scooter before you get a parking ticket. Or I could just, y'know, chuck it through that billboard for you."

Steph pursed an unimpressed lip at him, but nonetheless retreated back to her bike. As the cycle thrummed back to life, she tossed one final quip over her shoulder. 

"Take it from a fellow kid from the back alleys. Stoicism makes for bad bloodstain remover."

Jason had nothing left in his hands to throw at the cheeky blond zipping away down the road, so he ripped the side mirror off the bus and threw that instead, just to be difficult. 

(He also dropped an extra hundred dollar bill in his bus fare to pay off the damages. Hey, he wasn't some vandalizing punk afterall). 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The fact that the bus driver hadn't batted an eye lash at the sight of a broken, bloody corpse ripping out his side mirror or dragging itself onto his bus and paying his fare like any good citizen should in the dead hours of the night, attested to the normality of the whole event for your everyday, born-and-bred Gothamite. The bus was practically empty except for a raccoon-eyed woman who seemed to be having a rough night as well, being harassed by a red-faced businessman with enough grease in his hair to clog a drain pipe. Of all the seats the guy could have taken, he was sitting directly behind his victim, leaning slightly over her shoulder with a slimy smirk plastered on his face as he eyeballed the discomfited woman's rather well-endowed chest. The disgusting sight only stoked the embers of Jason's anger, quickly breathing fire back into his battered body. 

Without warning, Jason promptly flopped into the seat next to the woman, driving the back of his skull into said-slimeball's nose. The woman shrieked in surprise while the man howled out in alarm at the sudden blow, splatters of blood now oozing all over his face. Jason lounged patiently in his seat while the man recovered his senses enough to lunge for his attacker's neck, to which Jason snatched his arms and launched the guy over his head, slamming him hard into the bottom of the bus before beating him unconscious with his knuckles. Since Jason was apparently making a point about not being a vandalizing jackass of a vigilante that night, instead of blowing the skeezy pervert's brains out all over the bus floor (it was a public service vehicle after all and _someone_ would have to clean up after his mess), he got the elderly bus driver to make a quick stop so he could hang the bastard to a lamp post outside before they continued on their way.

Not two stops later, Jason was lying sprawled across the back row of the bus with an arm thrown over his eyes, trying and failing to keep his head focused on anything but the nausea and delirium swirling around inside him from the blood loss. He was contemplating the sharp pain slicing through his injuries (most likely from the stunt he pulled earlier. Who knew tossing a pervert over your head could be so aggravating?), when a shadow fell over him. He was about to flip the intruder off with a few choice words when, faster than he expected, the shadow's hands shot out and—

... started...  _petting_ his hair? And _scratching_ his belly? _What the fuck was happening_ — _?_

"Feel better?" asked Black Bat. 

Well. That explained the belly-rub at least (nothing says "siblings" like an invasion of personal space). Jason pushed her hands away with a groan, only to have them latch onto his sticky sleeve and inspect his broken wrist. 

"Let me guess," he started, reclaiming his hand before she could find a way to take off his gauntlet. "You're looking for a Replacement, about yea tall, spleen-less, and a hero-complex the size of the _Death Star?"_

"Hmm," Cassandra hummed vaguely (but not disagreeably), now prodding curiously at the wound in his side while pulling out a fresh pressure bandage and a hemostatic from her belt. Jason took that as a 'Yes, he's a nerd,' and a 'No, not him.' Fair enough. 

Jason gave up rather quickly trying to deter Cass from fussing over him (he could recognize a losing battle when he sees one) and the two fell into silence. Cass perched on the edge of the seat right next to his hip and continued rubbing his stomach soothingly as the bus ambled along. They drove through the suburbs at a sluggish pace with several passengers loading on and off as they made their way towards Pertslyn South, the terminal train station on the mainland heading towards the series of islands that was Gotham proper.

For the entire ride, Jason did the smart thing and kept his snarky comments to himself. There wasn't much to say— nothing he _wanted_ to say, at least, but with Cass it was easy to be drawn into a false sense of security by her silent presence. By the time you realize all your insecurities and ugly thoughts weren't so safely locked up in your head after all, she would have already gleaned everything she needed to know and more from the merest twitch of a finger.

As the bus came to a stop at the terminal station, Jason figured he had royally fucked up and probably twitched a finger when she helped him off the seats and said determinedly, "I come with you."

Oh, she knew _exactly_ what was going on. 

"Hm, lemme think. First of all,  _no_ ," he replied while Cass wrapped an arm around his waist and effortlessly heaved him up into sitting, then proceeded to heft his larger stature towards the exit with a nod of thanks to the bus driver as they passed. "And you can tell Big Bird that I'm dealing with it. I get it, I lost my cool. I'll muzzle myself and hop on a plane out of Gotham and out of everyone's hair by tomorrow."

Cass' grimace told him just how much disapproval she found in that particular comment. Hey, it's not like he was wrong about any of those points. Dickie bird was probably having an aneurysm over the messy aftermath of explosions he'd caused over the past few weeks, entire city blocks blown sky high across the state, Bludhaven included. _So what_ if the drug laboratories were disguised as ordinary condominiums? And still technically occupied by cronies? Those bastards got exactly what they deserved for extorting people's homes, throwing impoverished families out onto the streets for _their own selfish gains_ , for selling the same drugs that—

There was a sudden, sharp squeeze from the arm around his waist, making Jason sigh in resignation. Cass huffed, no patience for his brooding.

After purchasing two ride passes at the entrance, the pair made their way into the empty station, sandwich wrappers, soda cans and homeless squatters littering the corners where no one cared to look. The walls were decorated with loud advertisements, the most prominent of which Jason instinctively recoiled from (he had no more expendables to waste as projectiles against singing, hashed up jellybeans). A banner on the LED screen above the platform announced that the last train for the night would be leaving in two minutes. Meaning Jason only had _two minutes_ to subtly detach the Bat sibling stuck to his side and book it out of there before the next nosy member of the family could catch up with him.

"So... Uh. Well..." He floundered for a moment. How were you supposed to dissuade an ex-assassin determined to escort you back to bed and tuck you in like the good bat-child you were supposed to be? Jason opted for sarcasm.  "Let's just cut to the chase. You've got innocent people to save, B's got superstitious criminals to beat the shit out of, and I've got a plane to catch. Do you really want to waste the wee hours left babysitting a harmless invalid like myself?"

"Not invalid," she replied, then decidedly added, "Not _harmless_ ," with a pointed look that pierced right through him, to which Jason only shrugged agreeably with his good shoulder. 

One minute left. Well fuck. If Jason hoped to escape the most tenacious member of the Bat family, desperate measures it would have to be. He _hated_ the desperate measures. 

Without the slightest jostle in his movement, The Red Hood reached into his pocket, out of sight on his opposite side. "You know, Cass, you're right," he remarked amiably as police sirens echoed in the distance, familiar sounds of home. "Harmless doesn't suit me at all. Doesn't suit either of us. You and I, we've already crossed that line of no return. _He_ thinks he does, but he wouldn't understand that on _this_ side, you can see perfectly—that _there is no line at all_."

She frowned with solemn resignation. Seems even the best of them could be distracted by the truth, Jason bitterly thought. 

"But then you chose to haul ass and take up roots on the other side. That takes guts," he continued, perhaps the most sincere thing he had said that night. He closes his eyes, took a breath. "Good for you."

Okay, maybe  _too_ sincere. But Cass nodded stiffly with an appreciative  _'thank you'_ in her glassy eyes behind the mask and Jason figured a brief lapse into sanity was fine, especially after what he was about to do. 

A bell tone announcing the train's imminent arrival rung out as Jason subtly pressed a string of buttons on the remote in his other hand. Cass' commlink frizzed to life and The Batman's voice rolled through like gravel, chastising her for leaving her post and belting out commands for an emergency rendezvous at a crime scene far from wherever Jason was headed, just as he intended it to. He'd be long gone by the time she realized it was a recording. 

The train sloughed to a stop before the platform and the doors slid open. Cass however, froze on the spot while Jason freed his arm from her shoulders and limped forward over the threshold. He turned back in time to see a wave of indecision passing over her face, so he made the choice for her. 

"Y'know what, there _is_ a difference between us. We're not siblings. We're not acquaintances. You've moved on to the next home—  _I'm still here."_

Jason tore off the pressure bandage on his flank and let it drop to the floor. "Tell Drake to keep his nose out of my business. Or else he'll be tasting gunpowder next time instead of heroin."

The doors slid shut and the train with one passenger pulled away from the station, leaving the glassy-eyed girl behind on the platform. Jason might rip off side mirrors and use terrible ad posters for target practice, but he wasn't particularly prone to vandalism, especially when something as little as a scratch on someone's hopes for him left a bad taste in his mouth. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

An insistent beeping noise woke him up as the glowing, grandiose tower of Wayne Central shifted into view on the dark horizon between the skyscrapers of Midtown. The sudden change from the monotone clacks of the train as it sped along the rails alerted the only passenger to the source of the disturbance on his person. He groggily shifted through his pockets and side pouches until he pulled out the offending earpiece that definitely wasn't there before. 

Several beats passed as Jason sluggishly studied the small piece of tech in his fingers, beeping away for his attention. Finally, he slipped it into his ear and accepted the transmission.

_<... I can hear you breathing, Jason Todd. >_

"Well gosh darn-it. And here I thought I was good at playing dead."

An exasperated sigh, obviously not the first time the other had heard this kind of banter.  _< What are you doing, Jason? Why are you doing this?>_

"You mean riding public transit like a good, law-abiding citizen for a change? Paid for my ticket out of my own pocket, time-stamped and everything, Miss Gordon, I swear." His words came out more whiny than he intended. Putting effort into his sarcastic act was just too much for him at this point. 

Undeterred, Barbara continued pushing for answers. _< These past few weeks you've been nothing but reckless and stupid—>_

"—Been there, done that—"

_< —Collateral will cost hundreds of millions—>_

"—Not my problem—"

_< —So are you saying this has nothing to do with the fire at Park—?>_

"— I'm _saying_ , that you should _mind your own **fucking business**_."

His outburst was so sudden even Jason clammed up in surprise, blood pounding in his ears. _What the hell was wrong with him?_ He was a fucking mess— lighting up buildings like a demolition derby, swinging moods sporadically like a goddamn bobo doll, riding transit as if everything was _normal_ , and pissing off a woman who could make his life a living hell with a single keystroke. 

Static and train clacks filled the silence that followed. Jason shifted his stiff body from where he'd been slouching in his seat with a pained hitch in his breathing from the grinding of his ribs, trying to make himself more comfortable. He almost thought Barbara had given him the cold shoulder, forgotten the channel was still open and preoccupied herself with her Oracle-related duties, when her voice crackled through once more.

_< To get to the airport, you needed to transfer several stops back.> S_he carried on, as if Jason hadn't just narrowly dodged a near-breakdown. _< If you weren't so busy bleeding out on your seat, you would've noticed this train hasn't stopped at any of those stations.> _

" 'Course not. The all-mighty Oracle made sure of that."

_< I'm currently rerouting this train to change course for the GCPD headquarters downtown.>_

"Oh my, whatever shall I do?" Jason rolled his eyes. "Whelp, guess I'll just have to transfer the old-fashioned way," he bit back a gasp as he grabbed onto a pole and slowly pulled himself to his feet. 

_<... The emergency exit at the back of the carriage has a rusted seal that wasn't replaced last maintenance check. >_

"Good to know." Jason dragged himself over to the back of the carriage.

_< When this train makes a U-turn at Wayne Central, there will be a train heading in the opposite direction, passing at the four-eleven mark.>_

"Perfect." Jason braced himself through the door jamb and kicked out with his good leg. The door burst open and Jason took a moment to cover the microphone and scream over the jolt to his body, like a baby with a really bad tummy-ache.

_< Cassandra also left you a harness in one of your packs. Not sure how you didn't notice that one.>_

"How... thoughtful..." he breathed through clenched teeth. "Good kid, that one."

_< Stephanie left a grapple gun for you as well.>_

"Now that's just showing off." No wonder his pockets felt heavier (so it wasn't just his dying brain cells playing tricks on him). Safely balanced between train cars, he strapped on the harness and attached one end of the line just as the train entered the sprawling shadow of central station and switched tracks.

_<... Jason. >_ Barbara drew half of his attention as he aimed the gun at the oncoming train and timed his jump. _< If you stay on this next train, it'll take you to Farrows in Uptown. He's waiting for you to_ _—_ _>_

He ignored her and shot the line. As the train blurred past, he jumped, caught the edge of the the roof girdle, slipped on his bad arm, bounced, felt the tug of the harness catching him, then carefully guided himself to the back of the car so he could collapse safely into the door's alcove. As he caught his breath, the seconds stretched and Barbara was silent again on the other end. Jason let his head slump back against the doorway and watched the glowing 'W' of central station shrink away, then disappear behind a wall of buildings.

_< So,>_ she started again. _< You weren't heading for the airport after all. You would have jumped the train back at the docks if you were heading for a safehouse.>_

"All right, since the voice in my head knows me so well. Where _should_ I be going?"

Instead of gracing him with an answer, Barbara countered.  _< You told us you would try. Now fifty-seven people are dead, Tim barely survived without suffering any permanent damage for the rest of his life, thousands of citizens watched their homes torched to the ground, and for what? How many years, Jason, before you start changing things?>_

"Not enough," he muttered, more to himself (but there was no chance that Barbara hadn't heard him). He was fed up with the lectures.

As he yanked out the earpiece, he heard her sigh, _< With you, it's never enough.>_

Never enough?  _Time_  never _gives_ enough. In retrospect, his uneventful, first years of life were only an instant compared to everything after. There wasn't much to remember, only slices of insignificant moments, like eating a humburger too big for his small mouth, sitting in her lap on a crowded bus, feeding bread to the ducks at the park, helping to fold laundry on a sunny afternoon. Even the dark moments spent hiding in a closet, hiding the needles or digging through the trash behind the building. And yet, a part of him just couldn't let these moments go and maybe _that_ was why he was here, forcing himself to swallow his guilt over the past.

_What are you looking at?_ Jason snapped at the print of a contently bleeding jellybean with moose antlers on the side of a train he spotted heading West, the direction where he had come from. He waited until that calm, docile face was gone before tossing the earpiece into the streets below.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The first explosion on Park Row had been an accident. Jason had felt guilty, tried to justify it by hunting down the perpetrators responsible for emptying out the complex and replacing the units with volatile opium processing factories. He wiped out every other housing complex that had met the same fate.

Tim had been undercover casing the same group, the Triads, only to be caught when he abruptly switched objectives attempting to investigate The Red Hood's motives for intruding on the Triads operations. And of course, everything spiraled out of control from there.

Like a lot of mistakes that had to do with Jason, Bruce blamed himself. Preventing the trail of destruction left behind in Jason's wake could have been as easy as a brief, allegedly anonymous message reading, _'4th stage heroin lab on park row. triads responsible for extorting properties. do not use incendiaries.'_

But instead, Bruce had kept a distance, assumed Jason would handle the case fine on his own just as he always insisted. As unerringly rational and disciplined as Bruce could be, he could never stay impartial wherever Jason was concerned. With Jason, it was either flat out refusal or do nothing to avoid a confrontation. Sometimes he harshly berated himself for his negligence, for having double-standards, hypocrisy, _regret_ — things Alfred would tell him are only natural when one feels as though they've failed as a parent. 

How could he _dismiss_ such an important detail? Archives upon archives of data, evidence, Jason's history, everything he needed to know and yet the short time he spent as Jason's adopted father continues to overshadow the fact that Jason was _still_ grieving. That he had had a life on Park Row long before The Batman ever appeared.

Now this. Bloodshed and levelled city blocks. His charge. His fault. Foolish, careless _mistakes_.

The blackened, skeletal shell of Park Row apartments filled the windshield from inside the Batmobile as he brought the car to a stop. Crossing the construction barrier, he found Jason kneeling in the debris of what used to be unit 218 on the second floor.

"Guess it's true what they say. You don't appreciate the things you have until they're gone."

Jason's voice cracked as his hands continued to dig sluggishly through broken floorboards and crumbled plaster, his gaze trained determinedly on his task. Bruce felt the significant weight of that remark. It was a chain he had hung around his neck a long time ago with reminders clipped on as the years passed. His parents were the first— Jason's dead body hung next to them.

"She was the one who taught me. How to be safe on the streets, how to get home. I was just a stupid kid."

Bruce sidestepped a piece of wall flung over Jason's shoulder, a splatter of blood on it matching the red soaking through his charred uniform. 

"I ditched her to join some fucking street gang when I was nine. She took the bus home on her own after that, until she couldn't get out of bed anymore. Fuckin'  _heroin_ dealers," he hissed and shoved aside a chunk of concrete with such vehemence, Bruce suspected more self-loathing in the act than a personal grudge. The cape pooled around him as he knelt next to the broken man, still rummaging through the debris.

"It has to be here. Where did I leave it?" Jason insisted, his eyes dropping in and out of focus. His torn-up hands were shaking from the effort now.

Bruce remembered searching through this apartment years ago, back when a boy needed something he'd left behind in his old life, no matter how much he insisted he didn't care for any of it. He had gone back to retrieve it for the boy anyways.

_"Why can't I remember?_ Why can't I fucking remember her face _before— **Gghhhaaa**!_ " Jason let out a wretched cry of frustration, fists slamming to the ground. In his mind, all he could see were sunken cheeks, clammy, pale skin, and bruised, yellowing eyes, dilated into lifeless pools of black. A memory from his first home. His last memory of his mother.

" _I didn't mean it,_ " the boy sobbed. For the first time in a long time, Bruce believed him.

Carefully, Bruce wrapped a solid arm around his shoulders. They sat there for a while, until the first light of dawn seeped into the sky overhead. The sounds of early morning traffic soon filled the air with angry car horns and revving trucks. The Batman observed that it was probably wise to leave before the streets filled out and someone noticed them.

Mindful of the shrapnel in Jason's side, Bruce bodily lifted him up into a semi-standing position, letting him lean limply against his shoulder as he half-carried his son back to the car. On the way, he radioed the Cave.

"Alfred."

_< Master Bruce. I assume you've collected Master Jason?>_

"Yes. Is the picture still in his room?"

_< Right where he left it, sir. Although I took the liberty of retrieving it from page one-twenty-five of_ King Lear, Act 4, Scene 7 _, and have since framed it in his absence. I shall have it moved to the medical bay before your arrival. >_

"Thank you, Alfred."

With Jason safely secured in the passenger seat, Bruce started up the engine and set a course for home where a picture of a smiling mother and her son were waiting.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hm, didn't realize how long I hadn't posted anything. =(
> 
> This one's been sitting in my computer for a while, I just needed the right motivation to finish it. So here it is, the sort-of sequel to The Family Doctor's Appointment! Huzzah*throws confetti*! Not sure if the story is fleshed out or coherent enough, but you guys have been waiting long enough, I figured. I've also turned this into a series featuring Batfamily feels, themed around Jason struggling to do normal, everyday activities (like going to the doctor's office, or riding public transit).
> 
> If you like the idea, feel free to suggest a theme in the comments and I might use it for the next one. Themes should be unbearably average things we all do as normal human beings in everyday life =D
> 
> Cheers


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